


Take Me To Church

by Zoraidaz



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Abuse, Alternate Universe - High School, Angst, Depression, Homophobia, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Misery, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Religious Conflict
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-07
Updated: 2015-02-11
Packaged: 2018-03-10 18:46:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3299921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zoraidaz/pseuds/Zoraidaz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean has been living with depression for as long as he can remember. He can't see an end to it; the darkness is all-consuming and offers him no chance of escape. His mother, Mary, tries hard to get through to him, but so far Dean has stayed silent.</p><p>Every moment for Dean is a living hell - one that he can share with nobody. That is until a strange boy with sky blue eyes blunders into his life, not quite changing his world but rather letting him see it as he did before again. However, Dean can only wonder how long this will last before the darkness returns, and whether it will consume the boy with blue eyes too.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 365 Days

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the song [Take Me To Church - Hozier](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MYSVMgRr6pw)
> 
> This is going to be a pretty miserable story, just a warning - but it will now have a happy end! 
> 
> Knowing me, it will update really infrequently but if anybody likes it I'll try to make it a regular thing. Initially I was planning on it being a very short little story, but also knowing me, it could end up being 100,000+ words omg 
> 
> Either way, I hope you like it~ ^o^ 

Dean Winchester hated Thursdays.

Well, he hated Mondays more, but at least they didn’t lie to him. Mondays let him know the week was just beginning, that he had five more full days to survive before he could rest again. Thursdays promised him the end of the week, they promised that the struggle of school was nearly at an end for the time being and that he could finally be at peace for two precious days - but it was too far away to matter still. Fridays felt unreal; another whole day to drag himself through despite Thursday’s promise of rest, spent smiling at the oblivious people around him and walking from class to class with a bounce in his step to counteract the hooks that clawed their way into his soul and tried to drag him back to the safety of sleep.

Thursday felt like the longest day of the week to Dean, so of course it was on a Thursday that the fire alarm went off five minutes before the end of the day, thus ensuring he’d be kept there maybe another half an hour.

He dragged himself out of the door behind everybody else, struggling to feel any sense of panic or dread in contrast to the squealing classmates around him, all clamouring to push past and escape outside. He resisted the temptation to roll his eyes, settling for a sigh instead as he picked up a knocked-over chair and set it upright. Seeing as this was probably an ill-timed drill or a stupid accident, he found everybody’s panic really quite ridiculous. 

His thoughts were interrupted by his wrist being grabbed and yanked through the door by another boy, his arm nearly coming out of its socket as he stumbled outside. His first reaction was to wrench his arm back and glare at the stranger, angered that he would manhandle him like that, but the way he was just staring at him with eyes as blue as the empty sky - Dean just stood and stared right back.

“You could have gotten out faster,” the boy said, eyebrows knitting together. Dean shrugged a little, unable to look away even as a teacher repeatedly called his name. The boy tilted his head to the side, frowning even more. “Don’t you care?”

“Winchester, with me,” the teacher finally gave up calling him and stepped between them, breaking their eye contact. “Where’s your class? You need to be registered.”

“I dunno, sir,” Dean shrugged again, looking up at him. The teacher sighed, barely trying to hide his obvious impatience. 

“You better come with me, then,” he said, turning to face the boy. “And you, do you know where you’re going?”

“Yes,” he answered, still looking at Dean like he was a puzzle itching to be solved. Dean was careful to keep his face neutral, the teacher leading him away from the boy and his strange blue eyes.

———————————————————————-

“You’re home late, is everything okay?”

Mary’s voice was filled with concern; sympathy coating every word like caramel on an apple. Dean quietly set his bag down in the hall and hovered in the doorway, his entire body aching with the desire to ignore her and carry on up to his room. His mother was too kind, too caring. It made him feel guilty for being as broken as he was. He was a burden and he knew it.

“The fire alarm went off,” Dean replied, every word a weight in his mouth. Mary put down whatever she was doing - Dean wasn’t watching - and came over to put a hand on his shoulder. He didn’t look up.

“Are you alright? Was anyone hurt?”

Dean shook his head.

Mary rubbed his shoulder with her thumb gently, lips pressing into a worried line. “Is there anything you want to talk about?”

Again, Dean shook his head, still looking at his shoes.

Mary sighed softly, putting both her hands on her son’s shoulders and trying to coax him into looking at her. She pretended not to notice the hollow look in his eyes.

“You know you can tell me anything, right?”

Dean smiled tiredly. “I know.”

“Will you?”

“Yeah.”

They had the same conversation every day. He never said anything more.

———————————————————————-

“Is Dean home?”

“Hello to you too, Sam.”

“Sorry, Mom.”

“He’s upstairs in his room, like usual.”

“Thanks-”

“I’m not sure he wants to be bothered, Sam, hold on.”

“Did you try to tell him to talk to you again?”

“Yes.”

“You know he doesn’t like that.”

“I know, I just… I want _him_ to know I’m here for him.”

“Trust me, he knows.”

“Then why won’t he talk to me?”

“Because it’s too difficult.”


	2. 350 Days

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Extra warning for violent self-harm coping methods, homophobia, biphobia and abusive/really unhelpful parents in this chapter!)

After the incident with the fire alarm, Dean began to notice the boy with blue eyes more. He wasn’t a new student, nor was he particularly quiet or introverted; Dean just started noticing him more and more to the point he seemed to be everywhere, following him, watching him.

He would have been creeped out if he could care enough.

It was over a fortnight later, though, when he finally spoke to Dean again. Dean was sitting in the common room, eating his lunch in peace and quiet with his ear buds in and turned up loud. The few friends he’d had in the past had given up when he started cutting them off like this - it was clear he didn’t want to be spoken to and, like good friends, they respected that. It was just hard to _stay_ friends with someone you never spoke to.

This boy didn’t seem to pick up on this glaringly obvious social cue, however, and sat himself down opposite Dean and continued that staring of his. Dean pretended not to notice him at first, looking down at his _very_ fascinating sandwich without deviation until the boy reached out and tapped his arm. Dean took out one ear bud - enough to be polite but also enough to show that he didn’t want to talk - and tried his best not to glare at him too aggressively.

“What?” he asked shortly, the dark voice in his head instantly sneering at him. _Well done, Winchester. Already horrible to him and you’ve shared one word. Can’t you be nice to someone at all now?_

The boy just raised an eyebrow, though, ever so slightly. “I’m Castiel.”

Dean didn’t understand. “Hi..?” 

The boy, Castiel, smiled a little to himself. “I’m sorry, I’m not very... Hello, Dean.”

Dean actively frowned now. “How do you know my name?”

Castiel looked over his shoulder at Dean’s group of ex-friends, who were all sitting around a nearby table and watching this conversation unfold like vultures. Okay, maybe that was a bit unkind. Like hawks, maybe. 

“They told me. I asked.”

Dean took his other ear bud out and thought for a moment before speaking. “Why?”

Castiel shrugged, a smile breaking out on his face. “I wanted to talk to you.”

Dean smiled too, shaking his head and looking back down at his sandwich. His mother had made it that morning for him, using fresh white bread, washed lettuce, home-fried bacon and tomatoes she’d grown in their own garden. The amount of love put into the sandwich - put into him - it was staggering to Dean, yet he still found it so difficult to feel anything other than emptiness.

“What do you wanna talk about, then?” he asked softly, picking at the crust a little. Castiel shrugged, sitting back against the chair with a creak. 

“They tell me you’re a fan of The Hobbit,” he said quietly, apparently slightly nervous now. Dean smiled wider, if just to put him at ease and nodded.

“Yeah, I guess. I’ve read the book and seen the first two films, and obviously all The Lord of the Rings films before that,” he shrugged, the voice nagging in his head again. _You’re clearly not a true fan, the third film’s been out for ages. Castiel will think you’re a poser, he’ll hate you, like everybody else. Stop lying to yourself._

Dean tried to ignore it.

Castiel smiled wide, though. “Same here. I have yet to see the final movie, too.”

“You wanna see it with me?” Dean spoke without thinking, his mouth moving without his permission. What was he talking about? He never left the house if he could help it. He bit his lip, a sinking feeling weighing down in his chest but Castiel didn’t seem to notice. He leaned forwards.

“I would love to.” 

Dean blew out a small puff of air, looking at him nervously. Castiel smiled reassuringly, taking his lunch out of his bag and setting it on the table too. 

“When are you free?” he asked, taking a bite out of his own sandwich a moment later. Dean shrugged, rubbing his nose as he looked around the room.

“Anytime, really. You decide on a date and I’ll let you know.”

“Is tonight any good?”

Dean’s eyes snapped back to the boy with blue eyes, surprised. He was staring at him innocently, smiling so calmly still. Dean shrugged again, awkwardly beginning to fiddle with anything he could get his hands on. In this case it was the little plastic bag his mother had put his sandwich in. 

“I guess…? I’ll have to check with my Mom, but… I don’t see why not.”

Castiel’s grin spread wide across his face, reaching his eyes and making them sparkle. He quickly finished his mouthful of food, flushing a little pink as he nearly started talking without swallowing. “That’s great! Thank you, Dean.”

Dean smiled a little, rubbing the back of his head sheepishly. The smile came easier this time. “It’s, uh, it’s no problem.”

Castiel nodded in response, going back to his food without another word. Dean had half expected him to pack everything up and leave - the nagging voice in his head was already trying to tell him this was a setup, a joke, some kind of sick prank to give him a friend again and rip him away and Castiel was just going to sit with his ex-friends and high five them all as they congratulated him on surviving Dean’s presence - but Castiel stayed right where he was. Dean didn’t move for a couple of seconds, watching him suspiciously, but he gestured at Dean’s food as if to say _go ahead, I don’t mind, please continue._ Dean held his gaze for a moment, but upon realising that Castiel was never going to be beaten in a staring contest, he looked back down to his food and returned to picking at it.

The rest of Dean’s lunch break was spent, like usual, in silence. However, this time there was the important difference of another person there. The silence wasn’t lonely today; it was companionable, comfortable. Castiel, once having finished his lunch, took out a book and began reading after flashing a small smile at a very bewildered Dean. He had no idea why he was staying when he could read that book literally anywhere and with anyone, but he didn’t dare open his mouth and ruin it.

When the bell had rung to signify the end of lunch, Castiel had packed away his book, stood up and stretched.

“Shall we meet at the cinema at eight? I think there’s a viewing at ten past.”

Dean nodded, hugging his bag to his chest. That time was fine by him, but it might be a little late in the eyes of a parent. “What if my Mom says no?”

Castiel smiled. “Do you want my number? You can text me if you can’t make it, and we’ll rearrange another day.”

Again, Dean found himself nodding without really consciously doing so, holding out his hand so he could write his number on the back of it. Castiel then waved goodbye, heading off to class and leaving Dean standing alone again.

———————————————————————-

Dean’s nerves about his outing that evening had only increased as the day went on, but that was nothing compared to the sudden build-up when he saw his father’s car in the driveway. He froze where he stood on the pavement, fear taking root deep within in his chest and spreading its gnarled branches throughout the rest of his shaking body. Mary must have seen him from the window as he stopped because now she was calling him from their front door, a smile on her face so fake it belonged on a clown. 

When it became clear that Dean was not moving, Mary stepped out and hurried over to him, looking around anxiously as if the neighbours were watching events unfold. She hugged herself as she stood in front of him, the wind knotting her unbrushed hair and wafting her over-sized jumper around her slim frame. “Come inside, Dean,” she said softly, reaching out to take his hand despite him being nearly old enough to be a man in his own right. He backed away slightly, shaking his head. Mary sighed. 

“I know you don’t get on with your father, but you’re just being silly now.”

If only she knew the half of it. Dean took a deep breath but before he could speak, Mary interrupted him, intentionally or not. “You know very well that he loves you. He just has a funny way of showing it, come on.”

Dean didn’t have much choice after that, not wanting to make a scene any more than they already had - besides, he just knew that John would be watching from the window too. He had a habit of doing that; keeping tabs on his children from afar, watching them and waiting but not ever getting too close. Not unless he thought they were stepping in the wrong direction, at least. The last time Dean had seen him had been the day he’d come out to Sam and his mother. Four years ago.

The moment the door was closed behind him, Dean felt like a prisoner, trapped and afraid. Half hoping he could retreat upstairs straight away, as he put a foot on the stairs he smiled at his father and waved with as much energy as he could muster. “Hello, Sir.”

Unfortunately, John was having none of it. “Why don’t you come and sit with us, Dean? Your mother tells me you’re doing well.” His voice was scrap iron and rust to Dean’s ears. 

He turned to look at Mary, maybe hoping she would excuse him but also knowing she wouldn’t. She smiled reassuringly, although she seemed just as happy to see John as Dean was. He reluctantly nodded, following them into the living room. John sat down in Dean’s favourite chair. Mary didn’t say a word.

“I heard you’re going to graduate this year,” John said with a smile. “I’m proud of you. I thought you were going to be kept back at least once, but you proved me wrong.”

Dean shrugged, holding his gaze without smiling. “I’m doing alright, yeah.”

“How’s Sam? Are you looking after him properly?”

Dean nodded. He wasn’t going to tell his father again that the one who needed looking after wasn’t Sam anymore.

John sighed softly, rubbing at his eyes and refusing to look at his son for the next question. Dean knew what was coming before John even said it.

“Are you still gay?”

Dean winced a little, biting his lip. “No, Sir. I’m bisexual, like I said. Boys _and_ girls.” 

John exhaled loudly, clearly disappointed and disgusted, but he just slapped his hands on his thighs and sat back. “Right. It should make sense to you, then, that I am leaving this family.”

Dean’s blood ran cold and he looked at his mother, who only shrugged and smiled sadly.

“John has a family waiting for him, Dean. A baby. You understand, right?”

Dean looked back over to his father, betrayal welling up inside his chest. “What about us? We’re your family.”

His father shook his head, leaning back in the chair. “You’re an adult now, aren’t you? You can be the man of the house.”

Dean snorted, standing up with his fists balled at his sides. “It doesn’t work like that - you can’t just - you can’t just give up on us- what about Sam?”

John shrugged. “He disowned me four years ago. I’ve moved on, Dean, he’s grown up - it’s time you did too.”

“That’s enough, John,” Mary said quietly, looking down at the ground. Dean was nearly in tears, his eyes itching and aching along with his chest but he didn’t let himself go, not yet. “It’s difficult for him to understand what we’re going through at the best of times.”

“I’m _depressed,_ not a fucking idiot!” Dean shouted, suddenly losing his temper. “I understand perfectly well, thanks - and you know what? Fuck you. Both of you.”

John stood up too, then - “Don’t you _dare_ talk to your mother like that!” - but Dean was already upstairs and slamming his bedroom door. He paced around his room angrily, resisting the urge to punch the wall, his knuckles already scarred over from past fights with John. Instead he picked up a half empty mug, holding it tight in his fist and chucking it at his cupboard without a second thought, smashing it completely and splashing the cold coffee inside over the wood. Still unsatisfied, however, Dean carried on to kick at his door and throw himself against the wall, desperately trying to release everything he’d ever bottled up inside in a way other than slicing and tearing and clawing at himself. People asked questions when they saw those marks.

Dean ended up lying on his bed with his face in his hands, sobbing heavily although he failed to understand why on one level. He’d had wore fights before, worse days too. It was always the smallest thing that tipped him over. To be fair, his father _had_ technically already walked out four years ago. He had expected him to ever come back.

Downstairs, he could hear his parents fighting again. John was louder than Mary, but she was far more scathing and pissed off. Dean pulled a pillow over his head.

———————————————————————-

It took a full hour for the argument between the two adults to die down. It ended with several slamming doors and one smashing of glass, although Dean had no idea who threw it. Probably John, but Mary could be pretty damn scary too which she lost it. She’d never gotten mad at him or Sam like this, though. Only John. It was a miracle she’d loved him long enough for two children to begin with, let alone to last nearly twenty years with the man.

Dean spent the majority of the hour on his bed, crying himself out. He often went such long stretches without feeling that these fits of crying and emotion were storms of thunder and lightning to his body, destroying his insides and leaving him a hollow shell again. In a weird way, it felt good. But it certainly meant he was too exhausted and wrecked to even think about leaving fort the cinema that evening.

After spending a few minutes gathering up the energy, Dean blearily rolled onto his side and reached for his phone on the nightstand, scrubbing at his itchy eyes. He slowly thumbed in the number written on his hand, now partially smudged. He just had to hope he’d read it right. As it was his first text to the guy, Dean found himself reading and rereading and editing and changing and rewriting the text a number of times, nervous about first impressions although he’d already had at least two with him. In the end he closed his eyes to send it, realising he was never going to be happy with whatever he wrote.

**_Can’t come tonight, I’m sorry. Parents arguing. Bad time._ **

He got a reply only minutes later, his phone buzzing enthusiastically in his limp hand. _ **Is everything OK? :(**_

The corner of Dean’s mouth twitched into a smile for a moment, vaguely touched and amused.

_**Yeah. I think my dad might be leaving, though. Finally.** _

This time the reply came within seconds. _**Is that a good thing? In which case, yay! If not, I’m sorry ;o;**_

Dean huffed a small laugh after having had to pause and work out how the emoticon worked. 

_**It’s alright, he wasn’t the best father. But yeah, I’m sorry about tonight. I was really looking forward to it.**_ It wasn’t a _total_ lie.

Castiel’s reply came just as quickly for a third time. _**Hey, don’t worry about me! Look after yourself, these times can be tough. If you wanna chat, I’m here.**_

Dean swallowed thickly, tears threatening to surface again. He bit them back down, forcing himself to take deep breaths. He doubted Castiel would realise just how much those words affected him, and he sure as hell wasn’t going to tell him that he was the first person his age in years to say those things. He tapped out a reply as soon as he was able, his eyes blurring with tears but he didn’t let them out.

 ** _That would be nice. Thank you._** It didn’t matter he was pretty sure Castiel would leave after getting to know him; he wanted to pretend, just for a couple of hours, he had a friend again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, the baby is Adam Milligan~
> 
> Enjoy!


End file.
